Chapter Nineteen
Friday September 11th , 2012
"I fucking hate ambushes."
They hadn't spoken in an hour. Sixty minutes spent listening to the droll of the radio as they drove down a back road somewhere out the back of somewhere.
"Aye."
"I mean, it's one thing to be setting the ambush, but to be on the receiving end? I'm not a fan. You could have come and spoken to me at any time. You know that right?"
"Aye."
"But you didn't."
"Nae, Nae I didn't."
"Right." James grumbled, having received the stonewalling he had been expecting. "Well. As long as we're clear."
Mac turned and looked at James who was staring out at the long country road in front of him.
"You know I'm with you on this."
James nodded. "Yeah, yeah mate I do."
"Aye. Then do it."
James nodded and turned on his indicator, slowing the Range Rover up and pulling it over to the side of the road. When the vehicle reached a complete stop, he turned to his mate in the passenger seat.
"I could use Lucky with us for this. You know you are 2IC in his place, right?"
Mac gave him a long and fixed stare. "The fuck I am."
"Mate. In this situation, normally I would respect your wishes and let you continue in your role as a gigantic pain in my arse, but this is not a normal situation. I need you as my second on this."
"Ask Mark. He's next up."
James snorted. "You serious?"
Mac grunted.
"Thought so. I love the bloke, and he is ready to go. I spoke to Bits, he's next in line for a 2IC spot, especially since Lucky refused to promote. But he is as green as they come. I mean, he has a fucking St George tattoo. A St George tattoo, Mac. How do you reckon that bloke is going to handle us essentially working against our own government?"
Mac stared at him. He didn't react. It was customary at this point.
"I need you, mate. Consider it paying me back for your fucking little stunt yesterday."
Mac just stared at him. Long and hard. His dark eyes narrowed. "I'm still carrying the machine gun."
James snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Who else would I trust with it?"
Mac nodded. He didn't need to say more as they exited the vehicle.
James looked down the line as men started disembarking from their vehicles on the side of the country road. He held up his mobile phone and pointed at it.
He then pointed at his vehicle, being careful to place his phone back in the car. He saw the men nod as he did so. They understood.
James turned to Mac, speaking to him through the car.
"One more thing. I need you to use Afghan capture rules with me on this one."
Mac stared back at James. His eyes tightened, but he gave nothing away.
"I need to hear it mate. I can't get captured by these Death Eaters. I am literally what they are after."
Mac just continued to stare.
"Come on mate. We followed these rules overseas on countless trips. Just do it for me on this one. If it looks like they are going to get me, end me. I don't care if you fucking canoe me. Just do not let me get captured alive. I need you to promise me."
Mac gave a slight, but noticeable nod. James knew that was all he was likely to get from him.
"Thanks mate."
"You told the missus about that rule, didn't you?"
"I did." James said, looking back down the line of men who were faffing about near the cars. Stretching or drinking from travel mugs.
"How did she take it."
"How the fuck do you think she took it?"
Mac just nodded and turned to look down the line at the team.
James kept speaking, though he couldn't be sure as to why. Maybe just because he wanted Mac to know what was going on, or maybe because he himself was still finding ways to deal with it.
"I promised her, well, swore to her that I would try to live. That I wouldn't pull off any of my bullshit acts of stupidity that you all have to deal with from time to time. I swore that I was going to do better not to get killed."
Mac actually snorted.
"And did she believe you?"
James just looked back at the big man, who was looking at him with his usual steadfast look.
"Would you?"
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
"We find ourselves in a unique position. We may find that we are able to prevent a war, not just fight one."
He looked around at the men. They all stood in silence. Some shuffled their feet nervously. Others folded their arms across their chest. But they had listened. They had all wanted answers, and he had done his best to provide.
"What exactly are you proposing, James?" Mark said, fixing him with a steady look.
"Nothing untoward. Nothing directly insubordinate. I'm merely saying that we have all spent our adult lives at war. Wars not of our choosing-"
"Exactly." Mark said, cutting him off. "It's not our choice. 'Theirs is not to make reply, theirs is not to reason why, theirs is but to do and die.' Remember?"
"Did you really just quote Tennyson to me?"
Mark shrugged.
James knew that each man present had a reason for fighting. This was not Regular Army. They were not men who had joined for the myriad of reasons that inspire the youth of the soldiery.
These were the men who not only chose to make the profession of arms the dedication of their youth, but men who had overcome almost insurmountable obstacles in order to be the best in the world at what they did.
"Are you ignoring the whole point of that poem?" James continued. "It's not about glory, it was about following stupid orders and charging aimlessly into a blunder that could have been avoided. That's my point."
"Bit rich coming from you." Mark met his gaze easily.
James stared him down. He couldn't be angry, not really. Mark hadn't said anything unreasonable. This was the Regiment. All the men who stood in the circle had been recruited for independent thinking and resoluteness. It was not the first time that Mark had stood up to him and it would not be the last.
James just wished he had Lucky there to help him with this. A united, experienced, command team would help quell the dissent.
In absence of his speaking, Mark continued.
"The point is that we are the light brigade, we are pointed, and we go!"
"The point is that we are human fucking beings. That we are men. Men who find themselves in a unique position in the world. A position where we can do something about all this."
"Something about all what? About our orders? Are you listening to yourself?"
"Are you?" James worked hard to make sure his voice did not betray his frustration. If anything, right now he needed a team. He needed everyone to sing on the same sheet of music. He didn't need dissent, not now, not facing down the barrel of everything else.
"What the fuck, James?" Mark looked incredulously around the circle, as if surprised anyone would even consider what he was hearing. "We serve at the pleasure of her majesty."
"We serve for the protection of the nation, Mark." James could feel his spike of anger, despite himself. "Don't be stupid. We have a duty to ignore illegal and immoral orders."
"That's treason!"
"That's common fucking sense." James growled. "Mate, just take a moment. Listen to what I'm saying. This is another society that is just like us. We can work with them. We don't have to go to war with them! They are a sophisticated group of people. They just want to be left alone."
"I'll bet the Iraqis and the Afghani's wanted to be left alone." Mark said, meeting his gaze evenly. "But you still went there. You still put bodies in the ground over there. In fact. You went during the invasion of Iraq if I remember correctly. Did you protest that? Did you stand up for the poor Iraqis being picked on by the might of the Western World back in '03?"
James fixed him with a glare. "I had no ability to affect that decision to go."
"Yet you went. Repeatedly. You still go. So don't give me this bullshit argument about nobility and protecting people. If you want us to disobey orders and work against everything we've sworn to fight for, I want to know why. Why now? Why not then?"
James didn't know exactly what to say, and Mark continued.
"Because I've put bodies in the ground over there too. I need to think that it was for something. That we were doing some good over there. Doing our duty. Serving a cause."
"How in the fuck can you be so naive?" Said Adam, finally interrupting the argument.
Mark turned on him. "Are you listening to yourselves? James just said that these people have fought proxy wars on our own soil. Murdered the very citizens we swore to defend. And now you want to go out there and protect these people? Protect those people from our own? Sounds like you think you are one of them! I'm beginning to think, James, that you've gone native!"
"I am native." James said softly. "I am one of them. I'm a wizard"
Mark just shook his head. "I don't give a shit. You're my team leader, you're in charge. But I can tell you right now, we have a chain of command, and you are proposing we break that. You want my opinion?"
"You'd give it anyway." Came from Adam.
"This new chick has gotten in your head mate. You're being led around by your cock and now you're-"
James moved so quickly that not even Mark had time to react. He had Mark by the shirt, but neither party was willing to back down. Both sets of eyes burned with challenge.
Mark kept his chin up and jutted forward, in open defiance of his mate.
"You don't get to talk like that about her."
Mark met his gaze evenly. "Listen to yourself. Just listen. She's just like Peyton mate. Someone could be mistaken in thinking that you've still got it for your best mates' wife. That you still fancy her. That this new chick is leading you around by your dick. That she's a substitute for your best mate's wife."
"Oi." Shouted Mac, finally getting involved.
"She saved Lucky's life." James growled. His eyes were raw danger as they bored into Mark, who met that danger with an easy grace. "You don't fucking talk about her like that. Or Peyton for that matter. You know the fucking rules."
"Take a breath, James." Mark said, almost placating. "But listen to reason. Of course, she wants to get on your good side. Save Lucky. Get you on board. Get you to go and fight for the cause. Undermine the whole team while she's at it. Spread disharmony. Make us question things.
We don't pick our battles and we never have. We just go where we are told and we finish the fight. And we hope to get all of us home alive. Or have you forgotten that? Have you forgotten that we exist too? That we don't deserve all that bullshit you told us these wizards are up to. We serve our people, James. Ours. Not anyone else. It's why we do what we do. So don't you tell me that after everything, after all we've been through, that we don't matter. That our lives aren't important to you. That the safety and the well-being of all British people don't matter to you.
Because it sounds like this chick has you all up in a tissy about it all. She's clearly leading you around by your cock, mate. I expected better from you. You don't even remember any of this shit. What if she is the one pushing it? What if she is the one who hates us ordinary types. What if this is all a honey pot, aimed to get you to turn against the only family you've known for the last ten years?"
James let Mark go and patted him on the shoulders. Giving him a nod.
He stepped back, walked over to Mac, handing him his jacket and his watch. His movements were outwardly calm and easy going. Like he was doing nothing more bothersome then getting changed at the end of a very long day. But they contained an underlying sense of tension that was impossible to ignore from anyone that knew him.
He rolled up the sleeves of his collared shirt and turned back to Mark, who had started doing the same.
Adam folded his arms and shook his head. This manner of solving problems always seemed to bore him. Chris looked back and forth between the two men as they were shaped up. He reached out and took Mark's coat for him.
"You had to do it, didn't you?" James said as he shook his arms out to limber up. "You just had to go there."
"You're out of control, mate. Maybe this will help you see some reason."
"You broke the rules." James said, his eyes never leaving Mark. "I hope you're ready to defend that."
"Always."
"Anyone else have any reservations?" James called to the others.
There was a moment of silence as the other attending soldiers prepared to witness the challenge.
"Far as I'm concerned, I was third in the stack, I would have been just as fucked up as Lucky. He didn't just save your life that night." Said Chris, speaking up for the first time. "Hermione in turn saved him, and that makes her alright by me."
Adam nodded. "You know me mate. I'm with you. It would be a nice change of pace to prevent a war, as opposed to fight in one.."
James nodded to the two men.
"Just me then?" Mark said, with disappointment. The other men met his eyes and nodded to him. He was on his own.
"Chris." James called, his eyes not leaving Marks, who was shaping up and limbering up for the fight. "What are the three things that are off limits?"
Chris sighed. "A man's partner, his kids, And his hairline."
"Correct."
"And what happens if we break that?"
"The right of reply?"
"The right of reply."
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Tuesday 15th September 2012
"He was a wizard this whole time?" Lucky remarked, when Hermione finally finished catching them up to date with the world within their world.
Hermione nodded.
"As in, this whole time I've known him, he's been a wizard? Wand? Schooling? The lot?"
Hermione nodded again.
"Fuck, eh?" He said absently. Then he looked away. "I can't fucking believe this. This is bullshit."
"It's the truth. I promise."
Peyton gave Hermione an exasperated look.
What?
"This whole time, I've been giving him all manner of shit about his scar, when I could have been giving him shit about him being a wizard." Lucky looked disappointed. "Gandalf. Peter Pan. Fucking Darth Vader, for crying out loud. The nicknames write themselves. Fuck, he is in for it when he gets back."
Hermione glanced at Peyton, who's eyes rolled with so much energy she could have powered London for a month.
But then she couldn't hide her grin. It broke across her face and she started to laugh.
"I mean. I'd go for the Wizard of Oz, but one Aussie is enough for all of us, I would think." She teased.
Lucky laughed. "He should be so lucky."
Hermione couldn't help but join in with the laughter. She had had a lot of hard conversations in the week prior, and she knew she had more to come, but to have Lucky's natural sense of good humour around made things a lot easier.
Even if she still felt bad for ruining their date night.
"Stop it. We have so many questions and you have so many answers. We want those answers. If it means we give up our Tuesday night, then we are happy to do so. Besides. James is away. I'd rather know that you weren't spending each night alone and worried, or worse, working."
So that's how she found herself on Tuesday evening, relaxing on the back porch of Peyton and Lucky's house, only one week after two officers had turned up and told them that Lucky would be fortunate to survive.
Hermione took a sip of wine. Lucky turned and grinned stupidly at his wife.
"Well. He always was a bit special after all. Suppose it makes sense that something as random as being magical was all part of it too."
"You're taking this all remarkably well." Hermione said to them, marveling at the way they had listened, only interrupting to ask some clarifying questions, to the story of their mutual best friend's past.
Lucky shrugged. "The whole thing sounds nuts. Not going to lie. But then, I was nearly blown away by a floating green skull. And apparently you managed to heal the damage. So, I guess we can call that a bit of a perspective."
He looked over at Peyton who nodded in agreement. "I watched you heal him, Hermione. I don't care how you did it. I'm just glad you did."
"Naw, you do actually love me." Lucky leaned over and affectionately kissed Peyton on the cheek. She smiled and swatted him gently on the arm.
He laughed at her then leaned back, still smiling.
"Suppose that makes sense as to how all those bloody rounds missed him all the time."
It was an offhand comment from Lucky. One that was said with very little thought. An idle wondering produced almost as if to the universe.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, perking up.
"Well, that fucking idiot's favourite past time is just charging into enemy gunfire. Like he's bulletproof. Made out of Kevlar." Lucky said, relaxing back in his chair as if he was explaining nothing as untoward as the tendency of Australians to shorten everything. "You don't know any spells that can turn your body into Kevlar, do you? He needs it. I would have thought you would all be immune to gunfire."
Hermione smiled as she shook her head. The concept was ridiculous, wizards didn't even know what Kevlar was.
"I don't know how or why, but it seems like every time he does, the enemy just forget how to aim down their sights. I swear there are James shaped outlines of bullet holes scattered all throughout Afghanistan and Iraq."
Hermione chewed thoughtfully on her lip for a moment.
She decided at that moment that she had to ask.
"Lucky." She sighed as she worked up the courage, not to ask, but to hear the answer. "What happened in '07?"
Lucky's genial face tightened slightly. He saw Peyton reach over and pat him gently on the leg, leaving her hand there.
"Why do you ask?"
"Mac called in an '07." She said softly. "What happened?"
Lucky looked at Peyton. Peyton looked at Lucky. A knowing look passed between them as they seemed to think about what to say.
"That was the bad one." Peyton said, her eyes not leaving Lucky. Who gave her a nod and a small smile. "You were a mess after that one."
He nodded again.
"We had just gotten married. Had time for a quick honeymoon before the deployment. And they went. It was during fighting season, wasn't it?" She said.
He gave her a half smile.
"It was." Lucky gave Hermione a look that lingered. He seemed to be sizing her up. Assessing her. Determining whether he should say anymore.
"If it helps." She offered. "I saw a lot of things in his mind. A lot of things he has tried to bury."
He nodded. "I'll bet."
"What are you trying to bury, Luke?" Peyton asked, her grip on his leg tightening.
"Nothing."
"Liar."
Lucky turned to Peyton and offered her a sad smile.
"I came back on December 14th, 2007, and I was done. I was ready to leave. I had a year left on my bid and that was me. That was all over, red rover." He began, looking down into the depths of his red wine as if it was a pensieve and it contained all the answers to all of his questions. For Peyton and Lucky's sake, Hermione truly wished that he didn't look too hard for answers in its depths.
"But you didn't leave." Peyton said as she squeezed his hand.
He shook his head. "I couldn't. There was no way."
"Why not?" Hermione interjected.
Peyton just gave her a knowing look. Lucky himself let out a breathy laugh. "Why do you think?"
Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully.
"He wasn't able to leave." Lucky scoffed. "And I wasn't willing to leave him. Let him go back out there without me? Who would pull their sorry arses out of the fire? I Couldn't do it to him or Mac."
Peyton leaned back and leaned into Lucky. She was being a wonderful mix of physically affectionate and supportive, and respectful of Hermione's presence.
Hermione felt an all too familiar rush of gratitude for the pair of them. They had been there. Been there for James when the rest of the world had not. When the rest of the world had lost him, they had found him. They had picked him up, dusted him off, and settled him back down on his feet.
"That's why I'm so antsy right now." Lucky said, putting his arm around Peyton. "They are out there without me, and it kills me. It's the worst feeling in the world. Knowing that I can't do anything to help them."
Hermione saw Peyton look away at that revelation. She got the feeling that this was not the first time that she had heard such a thing.
"I thought you said you were done?" Hermione asked gently. It was good to get his perspective. It was helpful. It helped her see into James's perspective. Lucky seemed more willing to speak, which was a nice change.
"You know what scares me more than going back, Hermione?" He said, his eyes boring deep into her. "Stopping. Because when I stop, when I lose momentum, it will all catch up."
A steady silence settled over them. Hermione could see exactly what Peyton was thinking. The same thing that Hermione was.
What can I put in place now to ease that transition?
They were nothing if not practical people.
"You said you went into his memory, but found a lot of trauma?" She said, trying to draw the conversation along, and obviously being unwilling to dwell on that particular topic.
"Yes. He's seen a lot. The loss of his friends was by far the worst." Hermione fought to keep a hitch out of her voice. Now that James was away, the full horror of everything she had seen in his mind had settled in. She had replayed those scenes in her dreams. Waking from nightmares to find herself filled with frustration and loneliness at his absence.
She just wanted him to be there. She just wanted to roll over and feel his physical presence, feel his heartbeat. Feel that he was alive, that he was well. That he was breathing.
She just missed him. A lot.
"We went to Afghanistan as fighting season was kicking off." Lucky began. "But it wasn't until we got there that they revealed that we would be working primarily for MI6. We whinged about this, because that meant we weren't under our usual commands, and that meant we might lose some of the freedoms that we enjoyed."
He paused to take a sip.
"But that trip was ridiculous." He looked thoughtful again. "It was almost like they were trying to kill us."
Hermione could see that same expression that James adopted when he talked about such things. It was like he said it automatically, like the words spilled out of his mouth of their own accord. But there was no emotion to them. They just existed. They were soulless.
But they contained all the horror of what they had seen.
It was like a newspaper. Statistics reported in black or white, without a hint of everything that had served to get them there. No elements of the human experience and loss that existed behind what they had to say.
"They would send us on all these raids. Daytime instead of night. What you have to understand, Hermione, is that we owned the night. We have so much night fighting equipment that we could almost fight better at night then we could during the day. But the insurgents couldn't. They had none. We always had the upper hand."
Lucky looked at Peyton. Her examination was thorough. It was clear they didn't speak like this enough either. Hermione hoped that that would change.
"But also, these raids were without CAS – uh, air support, you know, gunships and the like?" He remembered his audience. "They would get pulled away as we attacked, it started to feel deliberate. We felt like bait. Like we were being given suicide missions. We suffered casualties. Jonesy and Biccie were killed. Byron was wounded, but he recovered and got his third hook. Cambo, Ticker, and Duck..."
Hermione saw that even Lucky, always so quick with a joke and a laugh, found it difficult to go on after he mentioned those names.
"They left parts of themselves over there." He turned and looked at Peyton, giving her a half smile, then continuing. "But the point was. At the end of the eight-month deployment, only three of us who had started were still on the team. Mac, James and I. James had gone from being our dems guy and primary assaulter, to the second-in-command. I had risen to third, and Mac was, well, Mac. Mark joined us towards the end, but by then we were doing more reasonable jobs. He only saw a few of these suicide missions."
Lucky reached over and started stroking Peyton's back. He gave her another smile.
"We had started to expect to die over there. It kind of made us wild. We knew that each op was likely to be our last. So we stopped caring. We stopped caring about little things. We stopped caring about the world outside of each night. It was – unhealthy." Lucky was completely lost in his memories now, she could tell. He stared down at his hand, clasped tightly around Peyton's.
"I never thought I would see Peyton again." He breathed. "I never thought I would make it home. A part of me didn't want to come home. Because home seemed like it might be too hard."
Hermione found herself entranced. She wanted to look away. To give them privacy, but she couldn't. She was too wrapped in this.
"James made it his own personal mission to stop the losses. He was like a man possessed. He took on all the most dangerous taskings. He refused to let anyone beat him through a door, up a murder hole, or into a tunnel. He took them all on because he outright refused to let us get hurt."
Hermione took a sip from her glass with a shaking hand. It was all she could do.
"He blamed himself. Never would say why. But he took full responsibility for everything. For every injury. For everyone we lost. For everyone we killed. I never understood that."
He turned to Peyton, who was staring at him with unblinking eyes.
"But then we did finish up. We made it home. And we made a vow. That after everything we had gone through over that fucking year, there would be no questions asked if someone needed help. It had always been there, unspoken. But we put it into words. We refused to lose each other to the aftermath.
Getting home was difficult. Being home was even harder. So, we made that pact that we would all survive.
James never asked me to stay in the Regiment. But he didn't have to. I knew what I had to do. What I wanted to do. Even when I didn't."
He paused only long enough to take a thoughtful sip of wine.
"But, thinking about it all, it kind of makes sense now."
Peyton nodded in reply.
"What does?" Hermione asked, feeling that they had arrived at a conclusion she was not privy to.
"Well think about it, Hermione." Peyton said, turning towards her and leaning into Lucky, to allow him to take his hand and stroke her back.
"They were testing him. MI5 and MI6 don't always have the best relationship." She said, though Peyton suspected she only knew this because of the men in her life. "But it's not a stretch to imagine that MI5 were testing him. Seeing what he could do. Seeing how he fought. Seeing if his magic would manifest itself under that stress. Torture didn't work, what about loss? You know that man better even than us. What is the best way to get a rise out of him?"
"Threaten those he cares about."
"Threaten those he cares about." She said thoughtfully. "Look at the connection those three have." Lucky would die for James or Mac in a heartbeat. In fact," She slapped his leg, "He nearly did. And what would James do for any of them?"
Hermione didn't need to answer.
"Remember that first day in the cafeteria? Remember what he said?"
She nodded. She hadn't forgotten. She would never forget that.
"He always considered himself expendable." She continued. "It was the most frustrating thing. He was just so fucking self-sacrificing. I never knew how to handle it."
Hermione nodded. She knew exactly how Peyton felt.
"Maybe they wanted him to feel that way. Maybe they wanted to use that." Peyton continued, looking over at Lucky with a thoughtful expression. "Make him so loyal to his mates that they could make him work for them, simply by putting his team in danger. It's horrific, but it is genius. It makes him perfect for their use, really.
He will die for his team. Any of them, particularly Luke and Mac. So as long as they keep sending them into danger, James will keep going. He will keep fighting. He's not going to let anyone hurt his lads. He never would. How can he then turn completely on MI5, without endangering his brothers?"
She paused as she took a sip of tea.
"It's like they are being held to ransom."
Hermione was thoughtful for a moment. Peyton raised a point. An excellent point. Mrs Jones was manipulative, she knew that much, but she hadn't quite realised just how much she was playing James.
"I need to get back out there." Lucky said, turning to his wife, who looked away. He stroked her back and she nodded. Clearly not happy to hear it. "He needs all the help he can get. That's my best mate Peyton. I need to be there for him. He's going to need us to get through it."
Peyton again, nodded.
Hermione didn't know what to say. She knew this conversation all too well, despite how recent it had all been.
Peyton seemed to collect herself, the moment forgotten, and her eyes blazed straight into Hermione.
"But also," She started, as if thinking out loud. "From the other side. From your side. If he is one of these so-called Horcruxes." Peyton said as she cradled her tea close to her chest. "What happens? You said that the only known way to destroy a Horcrux is to destroy the container, correct?"
Hermione nodded.
Peyton continued "It is therefore likely that his former friends, members of his community, government and the like, may then come for him. Capture him? Kill him? That sort of thing?"
Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully. "It is possible."
"Okay." Peyton said, looking Hermione dead in the eye. "You understand that is not going to happen, right?"
"I just need to find a way to destroy the Horcrux inside of him, if indeed it even exists."
"And if it doesn't, it is still not going to happen."
"Peyton…"
"Hermione." Peyton said, her voice adopting a hard edge. "Who do you think you are talking to?"
Hermione gave Peyton a look. "It is not that simple."
"It is that simple." Peyton's tone brokered no argument. "And If you fail to see it that way, then I think I misjudged you."
Hermione gave Peyton a long look. She felt a tinge of jealousy at the resolute and assured fire that burned behind her boss's eyes. Like an inferno that she had felt frequently in the depths of her own soul. An inferno that had been dulled by the weight of the world.
"Don't." Was all Hermione could muster. It was soft. Pitiful even.
"Don't what, Hermione?" Peyton said, her hand returning to rest resolutely on Lucky's leg. "Don't give up? Don't stop fighting? Don't let them take him away?"
"There's a lot at play here."
"There's a fucking life at play here, Hermione." Peyton was almost growling at Hermione now. "James's. Remember him? The man you have professed to love?"
"Don't you fucking dare." Hermione's voice was low and full of danger. Like the hiss of the snake before the bite.
"Don't I fucking dare, what?" Peyton almost mocked. "Don't I dare fight for my friend's life? Don't I dare stand between all this bullshit and him? Don't I dare fucking fight the world for my best friend? Oh, I would have thought, Hermione, I would have thought that you would be willing to do so. But clearly I was wrong."
"Peyton…" Said Lucky, his voice a tinge of warning.
"Don't you start." Peyton said to him, hushing him. "I would have thought that the pair of you might be more willing to fight to defend a person that you love. You said you made a vow!"
"I have fought longer and fucking harder than you can ever imagine to defend that man's life!" Hermione's voice was hot, her anger washing over her like the rough sea over an inexperienced surfer. "I fought for fucking years for that man's life! I have fought, and do fight, day in, and day out for his fucking life. So don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare, tell me that I would do anything else. Because I have been there, Peyton. I have stood there and fought every step of the way to try and save his life. To try and make him see the light at the end of the tunnel. To give him a life worth fucking fighting for."
Hermione's voice came in gasps as she lost it. "I would do anything, anything, for that man! I am doing everything for him! I love that man more than I love life itself. I love that man more than anything I can even begin to imagine! And if you think I'm willing to stand by and just let him get taken away from me, again, You can fuck right off!"
Hermione didn't know when she had stood up during that speech, only that she was borderline yelling the last few lines, and she had a shaking hand pointed aggressively at Peyton.
Far from shocked, Peyton smiled. It was a brilliant smile, a winning one. It did nothing to calm Hermione's mood. She settled back again against Lucky.
"I thought as much." She said, sitting back and leaning her head against a startled Lucky.
"What?" Hermione's voice had turned cold. A new kind of anger settled in. The kind that told her that she had been led into a trap.
"I thought as much." She said, a triumphant grin still on her face. "But you were starting to sound a little defeated, so I just wanted to make sure. Couldn't sit here and watch you get all caught up in it."
Hermione's mouth moved, but no sound came out. She was apoplectic. She was ready to actually explode.
"Hermione." Peyton said, with a raised eyebrow. "If the roles were reversed, and I was talking about letting him get taken by Governments unknown because he may be one of these Horcruxes, how would you have handled that?"
Hermione glared at Peyton.
"Exactly. I just wanted to make sure you still had some fight about you. I'm very glad to see that you do. It's been a long week, especially for you. I just hated seeing you look almost defeated."
Peyton had become placating.
"Sit down, please. Enjoy your wine. I just wanted to give you a reminder of that and one other thing. You aren't alone. Luke, all of his teammates and I, we aren't going to let this happen to him. Not a chance."
Hermione gradually sat back down as the anger began to wash away, the tide going back to the sea.
"Thankyou." She said, and her smile became warm. "Despite everything you've just told me, I wanted you to know how glad, how thankful I am – we are-" She shared a look with Lucky, "that he has you. That he has someone who loves him as much as you, because not only is it so amazing to see him so happy, but it sounds like you've managed to correct a flaw in him that has always existed."
"What's that?" Hermione said, in no mood for more tests or jokes.
"He may no longer see himself as expendable."
Hermione again chewed her lip thoughtfully.
"I don't know if we will ever get him past that."
Peyton gave her a knowing smile.
"You've already started."
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Thursday 17th September, 2012
The first time she had ever set foot in Malfoy Manor, it had failed to meet her expectations. She had almost pictured in her head that it was nothing short of some form of lair. Something that one would imagine Count Dracula living in. A dark, gothic, castle on a cliff face that was absent any of the warmth and happiness that made Hogwarts what it had been.
It had come as somewhat of a surprise then, that the manor was actually exactly that, a manor. It was a house, a home. It was a large country estate, befitting the wealth of the Malfoy family, but it was clearly lived in. It had history. It swirled with magic, much of it dark, naturally, but also much of it containing hidden elements of what defined the Malfoys: Family.
When she was younger, Hermione had always been content to allow herself to think that there was no love in the Malfoy family, as evident by the hatefulness of the son.
But it was more complicated than that, because of course it was. Families were complicated things, and even old pureblood traditions did not exist free of any emotional connection. Family was family. It was pride. It was for a purpose. It was what the Malfoy's strived to uphold.
She should never have been surprised, nor shocked.
Far from the dark and dank living conditions, the home was light. It had large windows that allowed in the natural lighting that illuminated the house. It made the whole Slytherin dungeon thing seem like it had been created because it was an expectation, a stereotype, more than an accurate representation of the older houses.
As Hermione walked into the parlour of the Manor, she was again struck by her own bias, not those of the purebloods.
That was not to say there was no darkness. God no. There was an undercurrent of loathing and malice that seemed to resent her very presence. Whether it was because of her blood, or her morals, she didn't know. Draco had hinted previously that it was likely both. Hermione stood in polar opposite to the traditions of the Malfoy family, a fact that she was incredibly proud of.
She was told there were dungeons in the manor, but she had never seen them.
There was also malice here. Hatred. Anger. Pride. She could feel it. Like a smell she couldn't quite detect, or a feeling of being watched that she couldn't explain.
It made her feel decidedly unwelcome, no matter the source.
She knew that his family's traditions had become an act he kept up. The old hateful child has softened somewhat since his defection and relationship, not that he would appreciate being told that. It was a hard truth he refused to accept.
Hermione never forgot when she did visit, mainly to see Ginny, that this manor had been built and cultivated by those who resented her very existence. By those who saw her presence as a tragic misstep in the evolutionary world of magic. They didn't quite educate themselves along the lines of genetics, but if they had, she would have been seen as an undesirable offshoot.
One to be destroyed. Ignored. Ruined.
Draco, for his part, loved the theatricalities of aristocracy. He had it as a child, and he had it as an adult. That he could stand back in his expensive robes with his airs and graces and act like it was all perfectly normal, what he was doing.
"Ron said that you would be calling. I'm afraid that Ginny isn't here at the moment. Recent events have kept her busy at work, hunting down the next story, as I'm sure you can imagine."
Hermione nodded. "I'm actually here to see you."
She rolled her eyes at his cocked eyebrow and the hint of a smirk. Of course, he would.
"In your dreams, Malfoy." Hermione was in no mood for his banter or bullshit. She did not for one moment believe he would try anything, but he loved his games. He loved his banter with her. Long since changed from the bullying and bullshit of youth, to the jabs and barbs of adulthood.
She didn't want to spend any more time here than she needed to.
"Then what can I do for you, Hermione?"
"I need access to your library."
"Of course, right this way. I'm surprised though, you will find a more comprehensive library at Hogwarts. You should know this. I'm almost convinced you used to live there, even during our summer breaks." He raised the eyebrow again. Clearly hoping for a reaction.
"Not that library."
He gave her an unreadable expression. "I may be wealthy, Hermione, but even I only have one library."
She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a look.
"Need I remind you that upon my acquittal, this manor was searched quite thoroughly by the Ministry. Any artefacts of dark magic were removed and destroyed."
He waved his hand with practised ease as he spoke.
"We both know that's not true."
"I am sorry to disappoint you Hermione." He said, his expression still unreadable. "But those old tomes are gone now. They are mere mentions in history."
Hermione took her turn to fix him with a look.
"Draco, please…"
They stood in silence as they appraised each other. She met his grey eyes evenly. She knew he was assessing her. He was doing that thing he did, where it was like he used Legilimency, but without using any magic. That near supernatural ability to read people by the barest flicker of an eye, or the twitch of a muscle.
Hermione mused that Draco be able to read James like an open book.
"Even if I were to have such tomes, why would the force of good that is Hermione Granger require them?"
"It's for a patient." It was a half-truth. She even hated lying to him, he had become part of her magical family. "They have been hit by a dark curse. One that I don't recognize. I need to find a way to break it, and I suspect that your library might be the only source of the information I need!"
There was a pleading in her voice that couldn't be ignored. Draco caught it easily. Anyone could have, they didn't need Draco's abilities to see that.
"Very well." He acquiesced, surprising her. "This way."
Their journey through the manor felt like it lasted for an age. They turned down corridors and into hallways. They took stairs up, they took them down. Hermione did her best to remember the way out, but she found that the harder she tried to remember, the more easily she forgot. She suspected an enchantment designed to confuse the visitor. An enchantment powerful enough to disrupt the brain's ability to retain the information.
After what felt like the longest walk of her life, they arrived at a bookshelf. It was simple. Elegant. It contained a series of tomes that appeared to be about the Malfoy family's origins. She could see they all had year dates on them. Matching all the way back to the Roman occupation of Britain.
She was amazed. Even she would enjoy reading about Wizards in Wizarding Roman times. Especially when the druids were the primary source of magic in Britain. Many of those types of books had become rare. All the research she had managed to do had been speculation at best. It was history lost to the ages.
She took a breath. Now was not the time.
Draco touched a series of the books in an order that she found again she couldn't remember. The enchantment was at work again, clearing her mind. To Hermione, it was almost like he was using a keypad. But he touched each tome with a practice ease.
With a final touch, the bookshelf melted away, revealing a door. It was simple. Wooden. With a handle that had been finely carved into the shape of a Raven.
Draco turned and gave her a final look, before opening the door.
She didn't hesitate, and followed him in.
The first thing she noticed as she entered, was an unnatural feeling that made her stomach turn. She had to swallow back bile that leapt to her throat.
Draco turned and looked at her. He knew.
"It takes some getting used to."
"I don't want to get used to it."
"Quite so."
She looked around and observed that the room was deceptive. It was huge. It was the size of a small library and was filled floor to ceiling with endless books. Some of them made her feel repulsed just to gaze upon their spines. She shook her head, trying to clear the haze that seemed to settle over her.
The centre of the circular room had two comfortable looking armchairs that sat next to a fireplace. They were black, because of course they were. They looked like you could get completely lost in the chairs and never emerge. Hermione was again surprised by the comfort those chairs offered, in a room that otherwise caused her a large degree of discomfort.
Draco saw what she was looking at and nodded. "What were you expecting? Torture implements? Chairs of restraint? Chains? Hooks?"
She flushed a deep crimson. She had been half expecting that.
He shook his head. "Those are in the dungeon. And in one of the bedrooms."
Despite her now pounding headache and the queasiness in her stomach, she shook her head, blinking away her swimming vision.
He just couldn't help himself.
Then he turned and sealed the door with a wave of his hand. The door slammed and disappeared with an audible thud that made her jump.
She backed away from Draco who turned and gave her a long look.
"Why don't you have a seat, Hermione. Perhaps then you can tell me what this is really about?"
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
He poured her a drink as she sat quietly in her chair. It was frustratingly comfortable, and she felt herself sinking into it. It seemed to beckon to her to grab a book from the shelf, any book, and settle in for a lovely long read.
But the unnaturalness of it still unnerved her to the pit of her stomach. If she was to do that, would she ever come back? Would she read and read until she died of thirst or starvation?
Came close to that before.
Normally this would seem ridiculous, even to her, but something about it wasn't right. It just seemed like a very real and very rational fear.
Draco caught her discomfort and offered her a tight smile. "Maybe you won't get used to it. I just grew up with it. It is almost akin to a feeling of family to me. It's like the comfort of home."
She nodded, looking everywhere but at him.
"Only a Malfoy can unseal the room. I'm sure that will provide us with all the time we need to discuss what we need to discuss."
"I told you, I'm helping a patient."
"Ah yes, one who has been hit by dark magic, you said."
"I did."
"I don't know many muggles who could survive contact with dark magic. Must be a particularly strong individual."
Hermione bit her lip. It hadn't been a well thought out lie. Not at all. Especially when it came to Draco Malfoy, a walking, talking, example of Legilimency.
She took a sip of the amber fluid she had been given. It was good. Very good. Expensive, she suspected. It was Draco afterall, he was as ostentatious as they came.
"So, tell me, just what curse has Harry Potter been hit with this time?"
She had had the misfortune of taking another sip when he asked and she nearly spit it out.
"Please don't. Don't waste the Whisky. I think the Manor would hate you even more if you committed that most grievous of sins."
She fixed him a glare.
"Before you ask. You confirmed it. You seem to forget, Granger, that we went to school together. I was never an insider in all your schemes and exploits, but I recognize that facial expression any day of the week. There is only one person in the world who brings out that almost desperate level of protectiveness and drive from you. And he is supposedly dead."
Hermione said nothing. If she said nothing, she could betray nothing.
"He is not. Clearly. I have heard many rumours of late about Voldemort, but very little about Potter. I would imagine a force of good like yourself darkening my doorstep and asking to see my private collection would lead one to suspect that perhaps he is not as dead as the Wizarding world would believe."
Again. She said nothing.
"It all makes sense. Ron's mystery source of all this information. I can only assume that Potter has found another way to get himself into some form of calamity. And it is up to you to get him out again, as per usual. What trouble has he gotten himself into this time?"
"Harry was always perfectly capable of getting himself out of trouble."
Draco actually laughed at that. "That's not how I remember it."
She again fixed him with her coldest glare.
"Now. Let's not stand on ceremony here. Potter is alive. You found him."
"Hermione, Ron, Potter?" She said, raising her eyebrow in a desperate attempt to deflect.
"I was never able to make peace with Potter before his apparent death. I believe that I have made that peace with you and Ron. I've not earnt the right to call him anything else."
She met his grey eyes. She couldn't read them. He was working hard to be controlled. To give nothing away. It was something he was an expert in.
His glare was full of scrutiny. She felt uncomfortable in that look. Like her Occlumency meant nothing. Like her mine was just another book on the shelf that surrounded the room, able to be picked up and read. "He's been a muggle, hasn't he? Serving in their military."
She fixed her mask as best she could to be passive.
"Oh yes. You moved all the way to Hereford to help the muggle military with Traumatic Brain Injury. I would say you moved all that way to help one person in particular. He doesn't know who he is, does he?"
She clenched her jaw.
"Well. He does now. He does if he has been cursed with dark magic. I'm sure he has some idea."
"The Death Eaters are after him." He continued, as if he was doing nothing more significant than reading out loud from a book. He fixed her with his most intense glare yet as he spoke. "They want him, don't they?"
Hermione sniffed. She really hated this. Cornered. Trapped. On the back foot.
And all over Harry Potter, as usual.
"They know he's a Horcrux."
She nearly dropped the glass.
How could he possibly know that?
"I knew before he did." He said simply, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back into his chair.
Her look turned deadly, and Draco did not miss it.
"Oh yes." Draco met her glare evenly. "I knew during the war.
"Well, what a pity you didn't think to share this information during the war." Hermione felt the anger building up again in the pit of her queasy stomach. "Some spy you turned out to be."
Draco nodded with an almost pained expression. "It was pity that held that my tongue."
Hermione shot him another glare. She felt sick. But now she could no longer tell if it was from the swirling darkness of the room, or the fact that everyone seemed to have known this information, except for her.
"Tell me, Hermione. Who in this world has thought longer and harder about the final duel between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter than you? Who has imagined it every which way that it could have happened?"
Draco swirled his whisky around in his glass as he continued to gaze at her.
"I know you went to the hospitals. I know you went and spoke to everyone, how you searched for him. How you refused to accept that he was dead, that he wasn't coming back. I wasn't there when they confirmed it, but I heard that it was a bit of a disaster. From what I am led to understand, you called certain people, who are now my bosses mind you, what you thought about them and their abilities."'
Hermione felt no remorse for her actions. She was right after all.
"Well, it seems that you could have saved me some time and a lot of heartache." Hermione shot back.
Draco actually had the good grace to look away from her then.
"What do you think it was like, now that you know he was a Horcrux?" Draco said.
The question gave her pause. She hadn't had time to consider that. It hadn't crossed her mind after everything had come spilling out.
"How do you think he felt, facing the Dark Lord? Knowing that win, lose, or draw, he had to die? That he didn't get to have victory. He wouldn't get to live to see the fruits of his labour? How must that have felt?" Draco had returned his eyes to Hermione's.
She went to speak, but found the words were absent.
"I don't even know how to begin to imagine it. Fighting for his life, only to know that he had to throw it away. Eighteen years old, his life having only just begun, and he had to end it. He never got to have the family he so obviously craved. He never got to see the peace he earnt, the lives he had saved. Or even the lives that were built of the back of his success."
Hermione found she couldn't look at Draco. Her eyes had begun to swim. She hadn't even considered for a moment how that must have felt.
"But he did it. He fought the Dark Lord, expecting that he had to die. He had to die having never known the things he truly wanted. Having never had a chance to start a life with you."
Hermione definitely couldn't look at Draco then. The burn in her eyes was too great for her to look anywhere but the amber depths of her drink.
"In truth, I admired him for it. We Malfoys are survivors. We make the best of situations, and risk only what we can afford to lose. We don't walk nobly into oblivion to save the world; we leave that to the Potters of the world."
He paused for a moment and Hermione could just make out that he was swilling his glass around again, obviously in thought.
"But how was I supposed to hurt you all so? How was I supposed to reveal all of this to you? To compound the pain you all so obviously felt. I was all kinds of messed up in the immediacy of the war. I couldn't bring myself to deliver this truth, which you now see as unkindness."
"It wasn't your secret to keep." The anger surged again to the surface, no longer content to lie buried in with the turmoil of the room. "Not at all. You should have told me."
"I thought I was protecting you." Draco said evenly.
"It's not your fucking job to protect me." Hermione cried, ignoring the sting of tears as they pooled in her eyes. "Not yours. Not Ron's. Not even Harry's! I'm not a little girl trapped in a bathroom with a troll anymore! I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!"
"I know that." Draco said, calmly.
"Then why fucking try? You and Ron. You're as bad as each other! Always trying to protect me. Protect me from things you won't even tell me about. Who do you think you are, trying to keep me in the dark about this?"
"I think I'm not Potter." Draco finally met her eyes. His grey eyes boring into her amber pools. "Neither is Ron. But we know what he did for you. I would imagine that Ron felt some form of duty to try and take that place."
Hermione sneered at him. "And what do you know about what Harry did for me?"
"I know that he was the only one who could ever truly get through to you."
Hermione's mouth hung loose.
"From what I understand that during the Hunt, you wouldn't eat. You wouldn't sleep. Ron told me that he tried. He tried to get you to take breaks. To find some enjoyment amongst all the horror. But he claims that nothing he ever did worked."
Hermione didn't know if she remembered it being that bad.
"Potter was the only one who could. He got you to eat. To drink. To sleep. I think in our own subtle ways, we tried to be that for you, by protecting you, looking out for you. We tried to be him. But we weren't."
Hermione took a sip of her drink, for want of what to say to that. The allegations about Harry were true. They had always been close, and he had always had a way of closing her book and putting her to bed. Or serving her a meal and sitting there until she ate it.
She had been so desperate to find anything. Anything at all that would help them – him – win. She had always figured she would have time for the other stuff after.
"It was still not your decision to keep that from me."
"No. It was Potters." Draco's voice was light. Almost as though he was cushioning the blow. Trying to protect her. Hermione was struck by how out of character it was, "And he didn't want anyone to know. He was afraid you would have looked at him differently."
Hermione's eyes shot up to meet Draco's grey eyes, which were swirling with emotion.
"You talked to him about this?"
Draco nodded.
"I did."
"And you didn't tell him how to rid himself of the Horcrux?"
Draco sighed. He turned away from Hermione, but she caught it before he left. It hung in the corner of his eyes.
Shame.
Failure.
"I have the largest collection of books in Britain about Horcruxes, likely even the world. They are all right there."
She began to raise from the chair, fighting against its beckoning to stay, its beckoning for her not to leave its comfortable depths. He stopped her with a sigh.
"You won't find what you are looking for here, Hermione."
"Why not?"
"Because Severus and I already tried."
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Thursday 17th September, 2012
This fucking fly needed to fuck right off.
And quickly too.
It was flying around and crawling on the very little exposed skin on the side of his face. How it constantly got under his cloth face cover, James would never know. But it did. It was irritating. It was driving him mental.
And it did not stop. He could hear it buzzing around his ears through his hearing protection. It zoomed around and around.
Then it landed. Right under his eyewear. Above his cloth face cover.
On his skin. Where it would proceed to prance around like it was river dancing on his skin.
It was a bit much, really.
And he was not allowed to fucking move.
James fucking hated ambushes.
This was the not very glamorous side of being in the Regiment. There was a lot of waiting around. Setting up, briefing, rehearsals, plans changing, rehearsal and replanning. They didn't put that on the glossy recruitment brochures.
It was enough to drive you almost crazy. And in cases like this, it always led to this. To seemingly endless watching and waiting.
He had been lying there since before dawn. At least twelve hours, but the sun had set.
Finally.
Twelve long hours supporting his own weight, along with his body armour, helmet and equipment, all on his elbows, doing his best to move as little as possible and make absolutely no noise. Doing his best to stay awake, stay focussed, and keep alert.
He was helped by a burn in his stomach. The intelligence was good. Four Death Eaters would be returning to this house at some point in the afternoon and the evening. Four more Death Eaters he could put in the ground. Four more he wouldn't have to deal with.
It was an exercise in patience. In waiting. In knowing that it was unlikely they would return until after nightfall. In finding ways to stay sane.
Well, it was now after nightfall. And James's world was green.
He had busied himself by looking around the farm. It was quite nice, all things considered. He had never considered life as a farmer, but he thought there might be some peace to the physical toil and life out here. He thought that to himself as he lay, heavily laden with weapons and ammunition.
When at war, think of peace.
There were five horses in the stable out the back. Not to mention sixty-seven cows in a nearby paddock. He knew because he had counted. Five times. 67. To the number. Exactly.
His favourite one had continued to stare out towards him all day. Daisy, he had named it. What else was he going to call it, it was a cow. Cows are called Daisy.
Daisy's favourite hobbies included absently chewing grass, sitting with her best friend Betty, and staring at him from across the field.
He and Daisy, they got each other. They understood each other. Even if one definitely couldn't see the other, and the other was being viewed through a crosshair of a magnified rifle scope.
They understood boredom.
You get it girl, don't you? You get me.
He did his best not to think about Hermione. But it was difficult. She crept into his thoughts so often that he had thought about nothing but her since he had crawled into position.
He couldn't help but think about the way her brown curls hung down past her shoulders. The way her brown eyes lit up when she laughed, or when she placed a hand on him.
He couldn't understand how natural it was. How natural it felt for her to touch him. How much it felt like home. How much it felt like it was meant to be.
He missed her terribly. He missed waking up with her almost as much as he missed going to sleep with her. He missed her strength. He could use that right now.
He had so much to tell her. About everything that had happened since he had last seen her. How much more difficult things had become in the last week. Things she needed to know.
He sighed softly as he looked into Daisy's eyes.
Don't judge me Daisy. I'm in love. I'm supposed to be pathetic.
His neck hurt. His lower back, his elbows. They all hurt. But he wouldn't complain. They didn't whinge, it was part of the reason they had risen so far. They just dealt with it. That's what they did.
On ambushes, they just had to endure.
And endure they did.
Until it happened.
There were four distinct, but dull cracks as the four men appeared in front of the house. They were in the front yard of the house, right next to the driveway. The driveway was a long, flowing, well maintained asphalt driveway that linked the house with civilization.
So, when the four men appeared in the front garden, the hours of nothing turned into something.
He felt it. The thrill. His heart was beating faster. The expectation of what was to come. The nerves as if he was about to be tested. Even if the four Death Eaters had no chance of fighting back.
James peered through his night scope.
He carefully made out the four men who were standing on the front porch. They glanced around each other carefully as they appeared. They were wary, their wands out and ready. But it was not nearly wary enough.
They were completely unaware of just over a dozen little laser points that were shining on them.
All four were well and truly covered by multiple lasers. Lasers that the newly appeared men could not see. Lasers that could only be seen through night vision.
James saw that his own shone off the head of the man closest to him.
James offered a small breathy scoff at their ignorance, a scoff that no one could hear. He eased the safety off of his weapon and his finger began to take up the trigger pressure.
But it caught in his mouth when he noticed something through the magnification of his sights. Something that made his blood turn to ice in his veins.
No. No. Please, to fuck no.
He let out a strangled breath and his finger shot from the tigger. His breath came in ragged gasps.
He blinked rapidly to clear his tired vision, praying to anything and anyone that he was wrong.
But he wasn't. He could just make out the embellishment around the jackets on the sleeves of the four men. If he hadn't had the magnification of his scope, he would have missed it completely. But James had seen these embellishments before. Just recently.
It was clear on the man closest to him, the man's whose head he currently decorated with an infrared green dot.
A highly stencilled, cursive 'A'.
Aurors.
He desperately reached for his radio and keyed in his mike.
"Hold-"
His words were immediately cut off by the roar as Mac's machine gun burst into life from right next to him.
It was immediately greeted by a crescendo as the rest of his team joined in.
"HOLD FIRE!" James screamed into his mike, but it was useless.
From the hill across the other side, James could see a series of dull muzzle flashes as Alpha team, stationed as the other kill team fired in concert with his own.
The four men dropped almost immediately as they were hit. There were no wasted rounds. No abundance of misused fire. The fired rounds lacked compassion. They lacked understanding.
Each round fired hit flesh. And the four men fell to the ground.
There was no writhing. No squirming and no screaming.
They had not had time to react. They never stood a chance. The ambush had been textbook. It was perfect. It had been well coordinated and conducted with all the precision expected of them.
It was cold, calculated and efficient.
And now four men were dead.
Four Aurors .
The gunfire died out as quickly as it had started, and the echoes faded over the hills.
No one moved. Nothing stirred. No birds sang, no crickets chirped, no men screamed.
Nothing.
It was silent. Deafening and complete.
He couldn't see their faces or make out their hair. He had to give a long blink to clear his eyes. He desperately tried to see who they were, but it was impossible. He had no idea if Ron was there. He had no idea if he had just watched his best mate from before die in a hail of gunfire.
He had no idea if he was responsible.
A cold pit of despair settled into James's stomach as the reality settled in on him. He had been wrong. He had been so fucking wrong.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
A/N:
Hello, and welcome back to Chapter Nineteen of RWIF.
Once again, you have my most heartfelt thanks to those of you that continue to review, favourite and follow the story. Not to mention those of you that read the story, that are still reading the story! It means much more than you could ever know. I love reading your thoughts and your opinions on the story.
I'd like to take a massive moment to thank the amazing and talented LancashireWitch. She has stepped into beta this story, though my suspicions are that she started to read it and couldn't help herself but correct all the editing mistakes I have made doing this on my own. So I have been working with her to go back form the start and correct those mistakes.
This chapter, at date of posting, has not yet been beta'd, just so as to not make it look like she's bad at her job. She's not. She's massively talented and a delight.
For those of you who don't have the luxury of knowing her, she has been the beta for much of the work by the incredibly talented Alexandra~Emerson, along with several others. She is incredible to work with, and for the Brits in the audience, you will be relieved to know that she has been working hard to 'Britpick' those earlier chapters. Hopefully we are caught up soon.
On that note, if you haven't read Alexandra's work, you should go do that immediately. I cannot recommend enough, 'One Day at a Time', 'Fourteen Days', 'Always There' and her current, agonisingly wonderful work, 'Bonded For Life'. They are well worth your while. Incredible stories from an incredibly talented author.
Now as for this chapter. I struggled with this one. Hence the delay (though I will use the going back to the start to Beta as an excuse), and it took some time for me to be happy with it. It took a lot of work, but I am posting it now so I can move forward and move past it.
The next chapter is well on the way, it is flowing nicely, so hopefully I have it to you soon. Maybe soon we can get to this Weasley Reunion eh. Everyone could use some happy times in amongst all the bleakness.
I do so hope you enjoy this chapter. Hermione's angry, and I can't blame her. It's been a rough week, and it isn't over yet.
Cheers,
ATG